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Zann spun in his chair to look at him. “Yeah. A little. But I have a feeling whatever I find in here is going to tell me I shouldn’t be.”

“I can tell you the same, without even having to look.”

“We’ll see. Oh, and I got you this thing, Niko,” Zann said.

He pulled one of the bags over and started rifling through it, until he procured a familiar looking orange orb with two spindly arms and an old Lord Fukkaho lyric sticker that read FUKK YA NOISE ORDINANCE, FUKK YA HOES pasted to its backside.

Tina.

“Figured you missed it,” Zann quipped, clearly knowing Niko was doing anything but. He tossed her at him without warning, and Niko caught the little bot reflexively with both hands.

“What is that?” Elliott asked, perking up.

Niko groaned. “An old disability assistance bot he got me years ago.”

“You love that thing. I know you do,” Zann said.

“Yeah, sure,” Niko grumbled. Yet, peering down at the deactivated little bot, Niko couldn’t help but feel an unexpected pang of nostalgia.

His life felt normal for a brief moment at the sight of her, the little clueless and bumbling bot who’d become a constant background presence to his shut-in days.

She’d been the closest thing he’d allowed himself to a friend.

He could almost picture her hovering around his apartment still, tiny engines whirring, cleaning up the depression messes he’d always left lying around.

Yet nothing was normal anymore, and she sat unresponsive in his hands, cheery virtual interface gone dark, parts clearly removed from her for data capture.

He felt an utterly pointless pang of guilt for having left her behind.

“Maybe you can… do something with this,” Niko said, handing her off to Elliott. “Zann, I can’t believe you broke into the Galapol archives to get a fucking assistant bot.”

“Nah, I just saw it lying there all dejected and dead looking and thought of you. The real treasure is in these files,” Zann said.

Elliott puzzled over T1-N4, turning her over in his hands.

“An old T1-N4. Second generation, after they'd ironed out the primary bugs, but before more advanced AI capabilities were iterated.

This is, ah, quite a basic model. See how the arms don't have full rotational functionality?” His eyebrows rose, unimpressed, when he found the sticker.

Then he pried open a small panel on her side and fished around inside it, before glancing at Zann. “The tracking module is missing.”

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot.”

“Astounding. But did you think to check your phone?”

“Destroyed my old one. I have a burner phone with tracking disabled. Anything else you want to try asking?”

“Yes. Though, I doubt you’ll be honest. Are you working for Galapol?”

Zann laughed. “I fucking wish I was. I had a pretty nice job there, you know? Had great dental.”

“I had a nice job too, building more sophisticated versions of things like this,” Elliott said coolly, “before Honeybliss destroyed my life.”

“Yeah? Niko said they doctored your files. So, did you ever actually work at LaraTech making fancy robot AI, or was that their lie too?”

Niko flushed, realizing he’d never taken more time to actually ask Elliott more about the truth of his life versus what had been in those files. They’d been so caught up in just surviving .

Elliott narrowed his eyes. “I worked at LaraTech, yes. Design engineer of the robotics division. I didn't program machine AI, but conducted root-cause failure analyses on the physical models.”

Zann whistled. “So, you really were a smartypants, huh? Makes sense, with all that irritating assed tech you have.”

“If my technology irritates you, then I consider it a success.”

Niko sighed. “Okay, okay, guys. If you’re going to be like this the entire time, this isn’t going to work out.”

The ship fell into a tense silence, his brother and boyfriend regarding each other warily. Niko shook his head. He peered out at the star lines flowing past them, entire solar systems there and gone in the blink of an eye.

His attention drifted back to Zann, the telltale blue of holographic display catching his eye as his brother began to fish through the files he’d gotten.

“There’s some interesting shit in here. I wasn’t able to grab much; I only had a few minutes. But I think I might have found something on your little asshole unlicensed hunter, and I grabbed a whole bunch of shit on Fourier.”

“Really?” Niko asked. He leaned in, trying to see the details. Elliott grudgingly moved a little closer too, though kept a notable distance from Zann, T1-N4 still clutched in his arms.

“This your girl?” Zann asked, bringing up several holographic mugshots that Niko instantly recognized.

Bubblegum looked a few years younger there, possibly in her late teens, her hair its natural black, with a respectable shiner on one cheek.

She wore an insolent smirk, her narrow, dark eyes fixed defiantly on the camera.

The numbers behind her had the top of her head barely reaching the five-foot-two line.

Beneath her photos read: CLAIR SUZUKI.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I recognize her too,” Elliott said.

“Yeah. Looks like she’s been in and out of jail several times for piss poor behavior. Assault, theft, something to do with running an illegal fighting ring,” Zann said.

“That tracks,” Niko mumbled. A chill went through him upon seeing her face, the memory of over a dozen Galapol agents dead or quickly dying around Elliott and himself, shards of glass pouring down onto them all like wicked rain. “I’m surprised Galapol was willing to work with her at all.”

“And that’s where it gets interesting,” Zann mumbled. “Take a look at this.”

At that, Elliott seemed unable to help himself, standing and making his way over to peer—cautiously—over Zann’s shoulder at the information. Niko looked too, his eyes skimming over some internal notes about her meeting with a particular officer to collect bounties.

Primary contact , it read, Agent Fourier.

“Fourier?” Niko said, leaning back. Another chill crept its way up him.

“Yep,” Zann replied. “The one and only. Looks like these two probably had some back-alley deals going on. Interesting she chose to waste him in the end, huh?”

“Why turn on him?” Niko asked.

“Still haven’t figured that one out,” Zann said. “I haven’t gotten to delve into his file much yet.”

“Can I see that?” Elliott asked. Niko and Zann both paused, looking at him.

“I’m not done looking through it,” Zann said coolly, though after a moment, added, “but, here.” He swiped the hologram over towards Elliott, who wasted no time immediately thumbing through the information there.

He looked to be speed-reading it, much like he had before with the Galapol files on him.

“Those are classified files, you kn—” Zann started.

“No. No more of that bullshit,” Niko cut him off. “I don’t think Galapol is friends with anyone on this ship right now. Am I wrong?”

Zann hesitated, then seemed to deflate. Niko got it.

Old habits died hard, and digesting that your life was now entirely changed forever was difficult, at best. He’d been there himself before too, and still was trying to make sense of the repercussions of his own choices made months ago. “No. You’re not.”

“We might be the only friends we have from here on out,” Niko said. “So, let’s start acting like it.”

“So,” Zann said as the ship descended toward the icy, dark surface of RM-9832642G, its frozen spires curling and bowing into one another under the moon’s gravity. “This is the place, huh?”

“This is the place,” Niko said. He guided the Sonadora through the entry gates to the hangar, then landed it. Once the engines were killed, heavy silence pressed down into the ship’s interior. Zann craned his neck to peer out the windshield at the hangar as it cycled in replacement oxygen.

“Huh,” he said, glancing over at Elliott. Niko looked at Elliott too; he was outwardly calm, but Niko knew his tells well enough now that the stiff set of his shoulders gave away a deep, latent anxiety.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Niko murmured to him.

Zann picked up his duffel bags and glanced to the exit door of the ship as Niko started the procedure of getting out of and charging the suit. “So, you have this place trapped to hell and back?”

Elliott hesitated. “No.”

“Really?” Zann eyed him. “Nothing at all?”

“No. I relied on no one being able to find it in the first place.”

A chime sounded, followed by an announcement in Quwa-quay, signaling the oxygen cycling had concluded and giving the all-clear to exit the ship.

Zann opened the door and stepped down the ramp, into the giant, empty hangar.

Niko and Elliott were briefly left together on the Sonadora .

Elliott shot him a dark, intense glance that all but said I don’t trust him .

Niko sighed. “I know,” he muttered, moving himself into the chair and stripping his boots off. “We’ll talk about it, okay?”

The scent of burning tobacco drifted into the ship as Niko wheeled his way out and down the ramp.

Elliott emerged shortly after him, a death stare affixed on Zann as he took a drag off his cigarette, one hand shoved in his coat pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Zann. Don’t be an asshole,” Niko said.

“What? I waited until we weren’t in that little tin can anymore. Or would you rather I step outside?”

“It’s a nice night out,” Elliott said flatly. “You should go for a walk.”

Zann only grinned at him. “Sure. You want to show me around out there? You go first. I’ll follow.”

Niko was beginning to realize the grave mistake he’d made. He was going to have to be the adult here.

“Alright,” he said, moving toward the main entrance to the facility proper. “Facility is this way. It’s where we’ve been staying. There’s a lot of empty rooms, so you can take your pick of whichever one you want—”

“ Not next to ours,” Elliott interjected. “Unless you want an earful.”